


Take Up Your Spade

by ObliqueOptimism



Series: Like Real People Do [6]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: ASL, Deaf Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Relapsing, Sober Klaus Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 13:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliqueOptimism/pseuds/ObliqueOptimism
Summary: Turns out being deaf doesn't really stop the whole addicted to drugs thing. When the cravings get too much one night, Klaus sneaks out.But he isn't alone anymore.
Series: Like Real People Do [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456297
Comments: 54
Kudos: 401





	Take Up Your Spade

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place a little bit after [Can Anyone Explain?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257963) where klaus and vanya get bunk beds. also listen, i want to do more deaf klaus, this does not feel like a good story to end it on but i don't have any ideas atm, so if you want to see something, feel free to ask.
> 
> fun fact: two days ago i wanted to write fluff. but then this happened. (it's not fluff)

The problem was that he was still an addict. Just because he couldn’t hear the ghosts any longer (thank god, thank ghost doctor, thank himself) didn’t mean he didn’t have cravings. He wasn’t _cured_. (He _hadn’t_ planned to be sober after he deafened himself anyway, he planned to go back to the streets and the drugs and live his best life. Only dear Vanya wouldn’t let him go. _Why?_)

Klaus was on the top bunk of their bed, trying to be quiet. 

(Shh. Don’t wake daddy.)

He could see the flickering lights of the the tv in the living room, most likely some infomercial. Ben probably with the phone in his hand, waiting to call the number and order their third ShamWow! (He’d know. As soon as Klaus did as the cravings called for as the phone would fall from Ben’s hands. _He would be so disappointed_)

Klaus wrapped his arms around himself, hands gripping tight. He mustn't relapse.

(They would be _disappointed_. He was tired of being a _disappointment_. But it was branded on his skin. Like _junkie_ and _whore_ and _worthless_. _Useless._ All anyone would have to do is look at him and know he shouldn’t be safe in their room. The fake stars shining down on him, the nightlight in the corner for him like he was a _child_. Afraid of the dark (_”let me out daddy, please! I’ll be good, I promise! I’m sorry!”_). He should be in the streets, bruises staining his skin, drugs in his system, fallen as hard as he deserved.)

But here he was. Safe in Vanya’s (their) apartment. Made safe for him. For Vanya. For Ben. 

His grip tightened on himself, wanting to pin himself down, to stop him from leaving his safe haven.

Don’t get up.

Don’t fall into ruin.

Would she let him back in? (No, she’d finally see? Wouldn’t she? _He was sorry._)

Change the locks, throw away the key.

God why was this happening? He didn’t even like drugs anymore (lies). He was safe and loved and happy now. (Before he had thought he was happy but he hadn’t known, _he hadn’t known_ what real happiness was. He’d only known the drugged euphoria. He missed the drugged euphoria. _Nothing could touch him there._ No matter how bad it was. Made him numb to all the shit he’d survived.) 

His nails dug into his arms as he tried to fight his cravings.

He should wake Vanya.

He should go out to Ben.

(But what if? He didn’t?)

(What if instead he snuck out. Even though he wouldn’t know _how_ quiet he was being, he was very good at it. The main problem was he didn’t know if any of his ladder rungs made noise, if there were parts of the floor that creaked when you stepped on them, did any of the doors need oiled? Would any of that give him away? How would you sneak out of a house when you didn’t know if you were silent?)

He did his best--

_to be silent_.

Somehow it worked.

He was outside in the hallway of their apartment. Yoga pants and loose shirt he’d been sleeping in, no shoes. He’d grabbed some money and his phone. Because he needed money for drugs and after getting high he’d need to text for a ride home (not that they’d take him back).

He could go back in. 

He wasn’t far from home.

He was far from the dealers he knew.

Hugging himself tight, he walked away.

It was like he was being pulled. His mind was on a loop and his body was shaking with _need_. Last time he had a craving like this Vanya held him through it. She ran her fingers through his hair as they watched Tangled. He’d been shaking apart but Vanya had kept him from shattering.

But she wasn’t here now. 

(She could be, she was asleep in her bunk, right below his.)

The night air was chilly on his skin. It sunk deep into his bones. The cold made itself home inside him (had it ever left? The chill of the mausoleum was part of him, like a disease he couldn’t cure). The sidewalk rough on the bottoms of his feet, harsh on his skin. 

Made him feel real.

(He was a real boy? A live boy? Was he a dead boy? Daddy, did he die in the mausoleum? Did the ghosts claw him apart? Did he claw himself apart? _He’s sorry for what he did._)

His arms hurt.

Oh yes, he was holding himself tight wasn’t he?

Always hurting himself worse than anyone else could. How could you trust others when you couldn’t trust yourself?

But--

Couldn’t he trust _someone_?

Vanya? Ben? _Diego?_

Maybe he could--

Maybe he shouldn’t--

Maybe--

Just maybe--

(Could he?)

His fingers ached when he let go of his arms, digging out his phone.

He sent two messages into the world.

“Guess whose on their way to their drug dealer!”

“Plz come help”

**And Now For Something Different**

There was a noise. Then a second. Then blessed silence. Dora _pushed_ him. Mumbling sleepily, she said, “Phone.”

Diego growled as he fought to open his eyes. _He’d only just gotten to sleep._ The light was bright and harsh in his face. It hurt to look at it. It hurt worse to see what Klaus had texted him.

Throwing the covers off, he was awake again, “Klaus.” It was all he could say, the rest of his explanation caught in his throat, crying, _screaming_ at what was happening.

He texted back, asking where Klaus was, while slipping his shoes on and grabbing his car keys. He kept his phone face up in the cup holder, waiting for it to light up and make the music Klaus missed so much, announcing Klaus’s location. 

No such message came through.

But Diego knew which parts of town Klaus tended to frequent when he was high. He knew the drug dealers, where to find them, what to look for. He hadn’t had to search for Klaus like this for a while now. 

And it _hurt_ doing it again. 

It almost felt like a physical pain.

But knowing that Klaus was reaching out? That he was asking or help? 

Going and searching for Klaus with little to no information was like putting on an old outfit. The shoes were moulded to his feet, worn where he had walked in them. The shirt fit tug and snug, enclosing him. He knew what was in the pockets, no surprises. It was a look he’d worn before and never wanted to put back on. Had hoped he could throw it out in the trash.

Klaus did like to dig in the trash.

It seemed to take ages, the clock in his car obviously not working right. It hadn’t been mere minutes, surely it had been hours. Surely the sun was about to come up, the world coming alive with the morning. But the clock had said he’d been looking for a little more than half an hour when he saw Klaus.

He was sitting under a street light looking down. The light causing harsh shadows, hiding Klaus’s face. But Diego would recognize his brother on any street corner. He’d gotten pretty far from his apartment before he’d stopped. 

Was he high already? 

Was he too late?

Not that it mattered. 

Even if Diego was too late he was proud of Klaus. He’d gotten sober before and he’d asked for help. It would be Diego’s fault if Klaus was high. 

For a second he got very worried when Klaus didn’t react to the car skidding to a stop, to Diego slamming the door shut, to Diego calling out his name. Klaus didn’t look up at all, no twitch, no jump. Not like he used to whenever Diego tracked him down.

But then Diego remembered with pained guilt. 

_Klaus was deaf now._ Of course he wouldn’t react like he always had previously. This was different now. It was a relapse, not a normal bi-weekly check in. 

He looked small, sitting on the ground. Almost like a lost child.

Diego sat down across from him, the cold side walk immediately making him shiver. 

The first thing Diego saw was the bruises in the shape of hands. It wasn’t the first time Diego had seen them, and it set him on edge. Did someone rough Klaus up? Take what they wanted from him? The shirt didn’t look torn, the yoga pants didn’t look ripped. His bare feet were dirty but not bloody. 

No sign of new needle marks on the elbows, right by the bruises. But Klaus never did care too much which drugs he took. Whatever got him high was okay by him.

Diego reached out and putting a gentle hand on Klaus’s chin, lifted his face so he could see it in the light.

He’d been crying.

He was still crying.

But his pupils looked normal, no split lip from being roughed up. Other than him crying, and the bruises, Klaus looked no worse for wear.

“Am I real?” Klaus asked, voice trembling and unsure.

Diego took his hand back, so he could sign. “Of course you are.”

Klaus looked Diego’s face over, looking for a lie in it. Something he’d done a lot. Trying to figure out if Diego would take him to a diner as promised for rehab. Was Diego lying about letting him crash on his sofa for the night? Was he lying that no, he hadn’t beat up Carlos or Chad or Gary or Mellisa or anyone who had hurt him. 

Speaking of.

“Who hurt you?” 

“Um? No one? I’m just sad, Di. Not crying because I’m hurt,” Klaus snorted.

Diego reached out and touched the bruises on his arms.

“_Oh_,” Klaus reached up and placed his hands over them. “I did that.” His hands fit over them perfectly. Diego hated seeing how Klaus had hurt himself. “I tried to hold myself down, y’know? Don’t go out. Don’t be more of a disappointment. Failed that.” He shrugged and looked back at Diego, “Couldn’t find my usual dealers. _Guess they moved._”

“Why not go to a new one?” Diego was surprised. Previously Klaus hadn’t been that picky.

“Couldn’t trust them.” Klaus scooted himself closer to Diego, almost into his lap, “Can I-- Can I trust you?” 

Klaus’s voice shook, he bit his lip, but eyes never strayed from Diego’s hands, waiting for an answer. It was odd now, not seeing Klaus’s piercing gaze on Diego’s face, but on his hands.

His hands were rough, full of calluses and cuts. His nails were short, he had a blood blister on his left thumb at the moment. To think that such craggy hands could hold such power, the power to help Klaus or to send him to one of the unknown dealers was powerful.

“Always.”

Klaus gave one nod of his head before putting himself fully in Diego’s lap. He whispered into Diego’s ear, “Thank you for coming. I need a moment here? With you? To make sure I’m real. _Alive._”

This was new. At least for a sober Klaus. Previously it wasn’t unheard of to have Klaus spout nonsense about their father leaving him for dead _with the dead_. Needing reassured that he hadn’t died, that he Reginald wasn’t waiting in the dark hallway to come get Klaus.

Those had been some bad trips.

Or so Diego had always thought.

But maybe this was a fear Klaus normally had and the drugs had just made him able to voice his fears.

They sat.

A few people walked by, fewer yet gave them looks, most just kept on walking.

After some time Klaus pulled back, “I’m sorry.” He sounded like he’d been crying again.

Diego let Klaus pull himself out of his grasp in his own time before putting his hands on Klaus’s shoulders, directing him to the car. 

Once inside, he had to check something. “Did something happen at home? With Vanya? Do you need to stay with me and Eudora tonight?”

Klaus shook his head, “No, no. She was asleep. I snuck out. I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up. You asked for help. I’m proud of you.”

Klaus pretended to not see that, but Diego knew he had. Klaus quickly looked away but was crying once more. Diego wished he could see in Klaus’s head, so he could know how to fix this, make it better. Instead he put the car in drive.

**But You Can**

Klaus had done enough damage. He’d do more, _he knew._ He knew that he’d have to tell Vanya, tell Ben, what had happened (how he fucked up). But maybe he could wait until morning. Maybe Diego hadn’t alerted them. 

“Did you tell them?” Klaus asked as they pulled up outside his building. Diego shook his head. “Can we not? _Tonight_ that is. Let Vanya sleep through the night? Please, Di? I can tell her in the morning but like, nothing happened right?”

“I’m worried,” Diego signed.

Klaus got that. (Of course he was worried. Let Klaus go and not give out a warning and he’ll just sneak away again. The call of the drugs too powerful, even tho since being held by his brother calmed it considerably.) “Sure, I guess. I just wanted to hold off a bit, sorry. Didn’t really want to see her realize there wasn’t any hope for me right now,” he laughed. If he saw that in Vanya’s eyes right now he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He wasn’t prepared for it. He was on an edge (it would tip him over). 

His laugh must have spoke volumes. “Okay,” Diego agreed. “But I’m going to text Eudora that I’m staying here. I’ll sleep on your sofa and you can go back to bed.”

“We can’t wake her,” Klaus replied. “Please.”

“I know how to be stealthy.” Diego rolled his eyes.

Klaus barked out a laugh, “Yeah, sure.”

They went in, didn’t turn on anymore of the lights. The tv was still on, Ben in front of it. He looked very surprised to see the two of them come in, “I’ll explain in the morning?” Klaus whispered to him. (He must not have been visible because Diego wasn’t staring at their brother like he always did now that he could sometimes see him.)

Ben nodded, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Diego’s going to sleep on the sofa, so you gotta find something else to occupy you tonight.”

Diego said something and Ben moved to a chair. The tv wasn’t turned off but Klaus watched as Diego got ready for sleep. He’d seen the routine enough. (Diego must’ve said Ben could continue watching his show. Very nice of him.)

As Klaus crept back into his room, he felt a need. _Different than before_. Instead of crawling back into his bed, he crawled into Vanya’s. She blinked slowly at him but made room. They’d done this often enough, when he had a nightmare. 

She wrapped her arms around him. (Second time he was held by a sibling that night. _God was he needy._) Vanya gave him a look, one he knew was her asking if he was okay. 

“I am now.”

(It wasn’t a lie. A nice surprise.)

In the morning the thing he got yelled at for wasn’t sneaking out, wasn’t not asking her or Ben for help, wasn’t about his bruises, wasn’t about him almost relapsing._ It was about his very dirty feet in her bed._ And you better believe he was going to wash them.

He felt safe, secure, _loved_. He knew he wasn't cured, that he would be fighting cravings for a while yet, maybe the rest of his life but--

He was real. He was alive. He could put his trust in his family.

Who knew?

(Ben knew, and lectured him at length while messing with his new Bullet Blender that had come in the mail that morning. He made smoothies all of them.)

**Author's Note:**

> obliqueoptimsim @ tumblr


End file.
